


All I Want

by The Tinglenator (Misha_McCarthy)



Series: Supernatural One-Shots [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxious Sam Winchester, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Character Study, Confused Dean Winchester, Drabble, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, One Shot, POV Alternating, POV Dean Winchester, POV Male Character, POV Sam Winchester, POV Third Person Limited, Protective Dean Winchester, Scared Sam Winchester, Short One Shot, Stressed Dean Winchester, Stressed Sam Winchester, Worried Dean Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_McCarthy/pseuds/The%20Tinglenator
Summary: Thursdays aren't any better than Tuesdays, and Sam finds it hard adjusting to living with Dean again. It doesn't take long for the protective older brother to notice that Sam can't look him in the eye. But Dean can't find it in himself to ask what happened with the trickster, and Sam can't get certain images, certain worries, out of his head. One-shot.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural One-Shots [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877215
Kudos: 52





	All I Want

Dean glanced over at the passenger seat, where Sam sat. Then he did it again. And again.

Finally, Sam couldn't keep his own gaze from shifting. "What is it?"

"Nothing, man," Dean said in the voice that meant it was most definitely something. Sam waited a brief pause, wondering what he would have said in a similar scenario, then remembered that this was what his older brother did. If he waited another second… "It's just that you seem out of it."

His eyes dragged down, then out the window again. It was way too easy to just watch Dean. Watch the way his foot lifted off the brake and eased onto the gas, watch the way his cheeks raised and lowered a hair as he thought to himself over the music. Dean would think he was nuts if he kept this up for much longer. "No, I- I'm fine. I'm great, actually."

"Yeah," Dean said. He wasn't sure if it was the 'let's drop it for now' or 'explain this to me' version. It'd been too long.

Sam decided he didn't want to talk about it either way.

**OOO**

He didn't make a fuss when AC/DC was popped into the tape deck, but he _did_ satisfy his curiosity when he looked over at Dean, who was mouthing all of the words to the song and tapping his fingers to each beat, never missing a single hit. It didn't fully occur to him that if this Wednesday had been a normal one, 'obnoxious', 'repetitive', and 'annoying' would have fit as nice descriptors. But today wasn't normal, and the Tuesday before it hadn't been, either. Nor the Tuesday before that. Or any of the other hundreds of Tuesdays.

But the weird thing was, those Tuesdays didn't _feel_ like yesterday happening over and over again; they felt like it'd been a single day, _months_ ago, repeating in the same ways. Technically that's exactly what had happened. At one point, he couldn't get rid of Dean- he was there every morning and Sam couldn't help but run over and check on him every time he died. Then, just like that, Dean was stolen from him. At first he'd been sure the trickster would slip up at some point, and he would get Dean back again like it had all been a nightmare. But he didn't. The hazy, feverish dream kept going. The more lives he risked, the more lives he took or let be taken- they would be in vain if he failed to save Dean. So he risked more. And he failed more. Which meant if he kept going for a little while longer, used just a few more people as bait-

"Hey."

Sam looked over. Dean had stopped his shenanigans and turned down the radio to practically nothing, but the only thing that had snapped Sam out of his reflections had been the commanding tone of his voice.

"The hell's the matter with you?" Dean demanded, looking both pissed and worried but managing both perfectly.

He gulped. "Nothing. I'm just glad it's finally Wednesday again."

"Right." Dean lowered his voice. "So you're the only lucky one that gets to remember Groundhog's Day? Dude, I could have perfected some kinda martial arts move. Or, y'know, find out which pickup lines actu-"

"It wasn't funny, Dean."

He had accidentally prepared the perfect storm in which Dean would deny that it was anything less than hilarious and he'd have to go on a long rant to make him understand, but for some reason it never came. The older of the two just shut up and turned his head in order to eye Sam.

But that _never_ happens with Dean. You can't shut him up for a million dollars. Or can you? He gave his best death glare to the window. No. This wasn't right. Why wasn't it right? He had Dean back. Even though the contract was still ongoing, they had a month to fix it. Things were looking up for the first time in a long time. So why did it feel alien to sit in the passenger seat, or speak to Dean, or even _look_ at Dean?

"If, uh, you don't want to talk about it, maybe we can find another case." They regarded each other for a stretched-out moment, gazing at the person across from them for the length of time it took a chorus to play out. Then, in a flash, Sam remembered.

"Dean, the road!" His brother was ready to hit the brakes as they both snapped their heads forward, but the old country path was barren.

Oh, wait. It was when they were trying to leave town that the transport collided with the entire left side of the Impala. And that… had apparently never happened.

Dean pulled the car onto the gravel shoulder and brought his hands as far away from the wheel as possible. "Sam," he said softly. "Why don't you go lay down in the back seat?"

"No, no. I'm okay, I promise."

His brother's eyes were glossed over with worry. "Look, I understand that it was a bad time. Just get some rest for me, 'kay?" He wondered if Dean's eyes could have held some fear- for the both of them- or if it was just the lighting. He really, really hoped it was just the latter. He couldn't be a danger to his brother, not after what the trickster had already done. It was a challenge just to keep from pouring out all of the events that happened over the last six months, but he didn't want to worry Dean. The last thing he wanted to do was scare his older brother enough to screw with their chances of ending the contract.

So he laid down in the back of the Impala and got himself into the all-too-familiar position in which he'd slept a lot recently. There hadn't been time to hustle pool or figure out new ways of hiding his credit card scams; there had only been time for driving, and when his body couldn't possibly take any more caffeine he'd have to dump himself in the back of the car and hope nobody thought of towing it. Now when he got into position, it was incredibly hard to fall asleep. The radio played Back Seat Confidential on low, which was as welcome a comfort as Dean's smooth driving. There were a couple times when he snapped awake again at the thought of losing all of this ground with Dean and being sent back to someplace… Any place, at this point, was worse than where he was now. But every time he looked up, Dean was there with a steady hand on the steering wheel, as stoic as stone but still adjusting his position once in a while as if he knew Sam was worried he'd become nothing more than a silhouette.

**OOOOO**

He had a kink in his neck again. Light had begun leaking in through the window above his feet and stung his eyes as he tried to get his limbs moving again. Things were dead silent, which was a little odd for being parked in a forest area.

The combination of the radio being off, the car fixed in one location, and his general surroundings prompted Sam to sit up like a bolt. This was exactly the type of place he would leave the car to nap. So if Dean wasn't driving, where was he? "De-"

His head rammed into the roof of the car with a nice loud thunk, and his cry was swallowed up by the metal's displeasure. Past his developing headache was the sound of movement in the front. A hand appeared on his shoulder, and Sam felt like it would be alright to hold on to his head a little while longer- Dean was there. It couldn't have been anyone else, because nobody would be at his side like that, nor would they so easily know how to lower his heart rate. He still hadn't opened his eyes. "You good?"

He nodded his- fuck. Head moving was a no-go right now. "Yep. Yeah. Gimme a sec."

The reassuring hand disappeared. When he finally turned to face the hood of the Impala and let the harsh light sting his retinas, Dean was giving him a look akin to last night's. "Do you wanna tell me what that was about?"

"I just- I didn't know if you were here, in the car, for a minute. I thought…"

"What? That I just up and left?"

"No, that you were gone. Well and truly gone.” Did he really just blurt that out? “It was just a dream, though, I thought it was real. Until now. I'm better, I'm awake. Did we pass anything? Breakfast sounds really good." A normal, one-time breakfast sounded even better.

"Another dream, huh?"

He looked past his long brown hair to Dean, who hadn't moved an inch and didn't seem entirely inclined to get into the driver's seat so they could take off.

"Like the dream you had between a quarter of Tuesday and yesterday afternoon? Maybe if you keep repeating this shit I’ll actually believe dreams can give you PTSD, or wha-"

"Dean, I'm fine. Promise." He tried to smile. It didn't really work. "Hungry, but fine."

"You keep saying that."

**OOOOO**

"What can I get you?"

Sam looked up at the sleep-deprived waiter who couldn't have been out of high school for long. The cafe was a nice change of pace from their usual diners, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief for not having to watch Dean order pigs and a poke from some perky middle-aged woman.

"How about one of those…" his brother motioned confusingly to the little menu's lunch specials, "Double-decker sandwiches? Extra bacon, extra fries."

He wasn't sure if their waiter was functioning enough to see his own writing pad, but he didn’t really mind. "I'll just have a large greek salad and a water, thanks."

Dean was studying him again. Wasn't _he_ the one that had watched Dean die, over and over, only for the next day to kill him off for real? _He_ should be the one watching _Dean_ all the time. Besides, the trickster could still be waiting for a chance to mess with them again. He couldn't risk letting Dean go too far.

"What're we doing, Sam?"

His brain snapped back to seeing what was in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"Are we laying low for a while, tryina shrug off the trickster? We going on another hunt? Or, y'know, hanging out in Las V-"

"I- I dunno." He looked out towards the parking lot. They were incredibly out of place in a classy joint like this, what with their worn boots, plaid, and unkempt hairdos. _Never_ in a million years would Dean suggest this kind of restaurant. Even now, the older of the two looked slightly wary and uncomfortable. Why hadn't he picked that 60s-style diner down the street?

"We can't just keep driving for days on end with no destination in mind."

What the hell? Of course they could. That's practically all he'd ever done, besides…

Dean was looking at him weird.

Sam held his hands up in defence. "Okay, uh, let's find a case a couple of towns down and work on that. Maybe head up to Dothan?"

" _Where_?"

"It's on the outskirts of Alabama. We'd have lots of time to find a case if we left soon."

"How on Earth could you know where that is? You haven't touched your laptop since Monday."

He had no clue what he'd done on Monday, but it didn't really matter, since he could already begin listing off demon locations and vampire nests from memory. He knew exactly what they were doing and how to stop them- right now, before they managed to attract hunter attention when they racked up the death tolls. "Dean, just, trust me, okay? We might as well hole up there and dig around online, at least."

It seemed like he'd be getting a reprimanding just as the waiter brought their food. Dean dropped the conversation in favour of making his way through the sandwich, slowly but surely. He looked like a kid who'd gotten vanilla instead of chocolate ice cream and had learned to make do. It was funny; Dean managed to seem normal despite everything, while the cafe continued to remind him that something was off about his brother’s behaviour.

**OOO**

Over three hours later, he'd been left to get them a motel room at a decent place while Dean went for beer. The hotel- yes, hotel with an 'h'- was at least three stars. Probably more. It almost hurt to hand over the credit card and wonder if it could actually be covered.

The brothers met to elevator music. One carried two duffel bags and a case of beer, while the other prioritized a single key. It was a plastic keycard. Sam went back through his memories, much farther past any number of Tuesdays, and even before he'd left for college. Had he ever held a keycard for a hotel room?

He walked in first with one of the bags Dean brought up and threw it down on the bed. It was time for a nice, hot shower and some fresh clothes.

"Dude."

His older brother was still holding the beer and bag over his shoulder, thoroughly disgusted with the room. But at first glance, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Well, maybe if you overlooked the fact that the bedding and walls were plain, and they had an adorable new mini-fridge. "What?"

"I'm not sleeping on… that's not even a couch." His disappointed glare fixated itself on a little blue loveseat.

Sam took a glance around again; he'd ordered a room with only one bed. Crap. "I- uh, the clerk must have misheard me." Or he'd been so deep in thought that he'd done what had become natural over the past few months. "I'll go back-"

"No," his brother sighed. The beers rattled as they were set down on the kitchen counter. "It's fine, I'll get my own room somewhere close." He flicked up another card with his usual grin and began to leave the cozy room.

"Dean, wait!" He'd scooped up all of his possessions and was trying to grab the beer. "I'll come. It's cheaper if we share, right? This must already cost a fortune."

Dean watched with skepticism as Sam moved as jerkily as his words came out. He still hadn't managed to balance the duffel bag and beer case properly, and Dean wasn't moving to help. His older brother was just looking on in worry. "Just… put the stuff down, man."

He had finally managed to get it cradled in one arm when Dean appeared beside him and lifted the drinks back onto a counter. What the hell was he doing? Sam had already told him it was a mistake. Did Dean not believe him? Did he want to distance himself from his little brother?

He was still brooding over the idea of Dean trying to avoid him when the hotel door shut. He'd left. Sam was all alone in a single bedroom with nothing but a bit of gear, clothes, and food. It felt all too familiar. Should he run down to the lobby and try to catch up? But then, that would just be weird. Dean would get a room within a few minutes. The chance of the elevator breaking down and overriding the safety mechanisms was so far beyond possible he shouldn't have wasted time considering it. But what about a random gunner? A drunk car smashing through the large open windows? Choking on water?

Can you choke on water and die?

…

He shouldn't be in this mindset. It'd been _months_ since he'd had to worry about keeping Dean alive. There were some fresh clothes in his bag and the shower was simply calling his name. It'd been too long without a shower, both mentally and in reality. There. That was the plan.

**OOO**

The sun was already hanging fairly low when he checked his phone. Dean had beat him to the call- forty minutes ago. No voicemail.

He hit to dial and only waited for about two rings. "Hey, sorry. I was… showering."

"For two hours?" The phone broadcasted sounds of sighing, then silence.

He was at a loss for what to say, too. They didn't need to do research since he already knew about the hunt; refreshers could take a couple minutes, tops. If he asked to come over to Dean's room for a while he'd sound more pathetic than a tearful five-year-old.

"Guess we don't have hot water very often, huh? I did some research, but nothing yet. All our stuff’s over here at room 137 if you need anything." Another pause. "You know they have free coffee? There's _real_ sugar packets, man."

He chuckled a bit. "That's, uh, great. Look, I need my laptop so I'll be over in a couple." He didn't know what he needed the computer for.

"'Kay. Don't be too long. I _did_ find a club some streets down."

He hung up and was almost immediately in the corridor, nothing on hand. The room was probably just a short walk down the hallway. One minute he's on the phone, the next he's at the room? No. Way too weird.

But that had never mattered before. He's been weird in the past- really weird- and Dean just took it as it came. Things like the whole demonic-immunity and special powers fiasco had been a lot easier to deal with when Dean was around. Dean was always… Dean. The one constant factor in most situations.

Now, though, Dean's on his way to Hell, and he's scared. Wasn't he scared?

Yes. He remembered calling his brother out on it at one point. It didn't exactly take a psychic to figure out that someone who's good at hiding their emotions still feels frightened- especially on the road to Hell. But Dean would rather die than admit that.

When he finally hauled himself over to Dean's room, his breath was almost stolen. Dean. Dean was _right there_. It was so right and so wrong. He'd been dead, gone, silent for so long. At least during college Dean returned most calls.

He went straight to his laptop, like his crush was letting him in and he wasn't actually supposed to be here. He'd been alone for so long, but at the same time, they'd been hunting together for a couple years now, and many years before the big fight. At this point, he should have readjusted. Dean knew it, too; that's why he seemed so worried. He was scaring Dean off before they'd ended his contract. The contract needed to be ended. Nothing else mattered at the moment.

"So," Dean started, "Are you just grabbing some stuff?"

He turned around slowly, but faster than he meant for. "When are you leaving?"

A shrug. "It's still pretty bright out."

Should he ask? Probably not. But Dean didn't even look like he'd be going out anyways. "I'd rather stay here for a while." Wow, that was downright pathetic.

Dean just nodded.

Okay, maybe Dean wasn't really acting like Dean anymore.

"I watch the porn, you do the research?" His brother's signature smirk reappeared.

"I already have an idea of where we're going."

Dean sat down across from him on a chair across from the bed. The seats had a glass coffee table between them and seemed to be decent low-end designer. "Where?"

"There's… It's a vampire nest." He hadn’t meant to admit what he knew so quickly, but there wasn’t really any taking it back now. For some reason, he didn't receive an answer; Dean just studied him as he had hesitated.

"Okay. Should we go tonight then? They could be snagging more victims soon."

He shook his head.

Dean kept his eyes on him.

"You know, you've been staring at me a hell of a lot lately," he groused, refusing to truly make eye contact.

"And you've been ignoring my calls to do research."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"If you need to go on a hunting rampage, fine. Let's do that instead of sitting on our asses while there's a vamp nest around. Do we have any good witnesses?"

"I… dunno."

When he managed to meet Dean's gaze again, he wasn't expecting the trust found there. "Do you know where they are?"

He shrugged. Anything else, and it would be clear that he was just as abnormal in comparison to when he'd seen premonitions. "I have an idea. I'm not sure."

"You want the keys?" Dean stood.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "The keys? To your precious baby darling?"

Catching the keys distracted Sam from Dean's wavering certainty. "Let's go down there. No time like the present, right?"

* * *

Dean watched his younger brother sit on one of the chairs that faced the windows. From there, you had a nice view of the city- and the building which held a couple dead vamps. Sam had known exactly where to go, and where each vampire was located when they arrived. He'd all but taken over the entire procedure. No questions, no looks, no hesitation. Sam knew exactly what he'd been doing.

Which was odd. Because even the arrangement of the trunk had seemed foreign to him for a couple of minutes.

The worst of it was, though, that he had no idea how to help. Groundhog's Day ends happily- unlike, apparently, whatever this had become. Watching him die every day without anyone to talk to must have sucked, but at the same time he had this nagging feeling that Sam was doing his best to suppress something else- something worse.

He'd been freaking out on Tuesday.

He'd been a complete mess on Wednesday.

For fuck's sake, the kid didn't want him out of his sight.

It was too difficult to puzzle out right now. He'd thought Sam would spill it in the car, but his little brother had been as hushed as he was now while gazing out the window. They had agreed Sam would leave the room and get some proper sleep three hours ago. Dean had pretended to fall asleep an hour and a half ago. Sam was still sitting there.

But, if his little brother really wanted to be sitting in pitch black with only the faint lights and sounds of traffic, he was fine with that. As far as he was concerned the only way Sam would be moving past the trickster's shit properly was if he stopped pestering him, and instead did what he always did. Talked how he always talked. Ate how he always ate. And, most importantly, acted as if nothing in the world was wrong.

But damn, if that wasn't hard to do.

**OOOOO**

Sam felt his shoulder being tapped. "Mmm?" His eyes could only stay open for a second against the heat of the sun's rays.

"We're not starting a trend of getting up late, are we?" Dean asked from somewhere close by. "C'mon. I thought we'd be going after Bella pretty soon."

He caught a glimpse of a floating cup of coffee in front of his face and drank it down as fast as possible. "Bela?" The name brought recollections of trouble, even though he couldn't deny a couple things about her looks.

"Yeah. I want that bitch dead, sooner rather than later."

He wanted to tell Dean that her deal would be coming due in a couple months, and that it would be best if they kept their distance. Her own childhood would catch up to her and they wouldn't have to lift a finger. He just wasn't sure how to say that and still sound sane. "But we haven't been able to find anything on her. It would be a better use of our time if we did some more hunts and wait for her to slip up."

Dean glanced up, seemingly taken aback by his tone. Twenty four hours and he already felt exhausted from trying not to worry Dean; it was just too difficult.

"Okay. I'll go grab breakfast, you c-"

Sam had jumped from his seat and was finding a place to put the coffee mug down. "Sure, I'll come with you." He knew his attempt to make it sound natural was in vain, but he really didn't think having an hour-long heart attack from all the ways Dean could get hurt- or worse- was productive for anyone.

"You sure?" Dean's arms were frozen in place. "Maybe you should get some real sleep for a little while."

His head was shaking before it could be stopped. "I guess I just passed out early on. The only difference is my back."

 _Liar_. He saw the word like it was printed on Dean's forehead, but neither of them mentioned it. Instead, they went to a normal old diner again.

Dean got his breakfast extra greasy, probably just to piss him off. But that was a normal occurrence. He was kind of liking normal right now.

"Hey," the elder between them sputtered through his food. "Maybe we should head over to Bobby's."

"What for?"

"You-" Dean's voice was dry. He coughed, trying to get some breakfast variant of potato out of his throat. It looked like he was having trouble.

"Dean?" The fork dropped from his hands without his notice. "DEAN?"

He got out of the booth and leaned over Dean before he could consciously decide what to do with himself. Dean coughed a bit and cleared his throat. "Sam, I-" There was a bit more coughing. Should he do the heimlich? But maybe if he pulls Dean out of the booth, it'll get worse. "Sam, I'm _fine_. Sit back down, wouldja?"

His hands were shaking too much to try picking up the fork, let alone the fruit smoothie. Glares from the rest of the restaurant bore into him, but the only one he didn't want to meet was Dean's. "Sorry." His shot at grabbing the fork was a miserable one.

He didn't hear anything from Dean save for a spot of silence, and then his fork clinking against his plate. "That was a Tuesday, wasn't it? Me choking?"

The scrambled eggs he'd ordered didn't look so good anymore.

"Sam, talk to me about this!"

"No," he growled. With that one simple word, it felt like everything keeping him sane and away from the topic was crumbling away. "You wanna know why? Cuz there's nothing to talk about! Those Tuesdays- those months- they weren't _real_ , Dean! The less we talk about it the easier it is to forget…" _Because it's not real._ But it was. And it will be. When his contract comes due.

"Sam, even I can't just repress shit forever. It's affecting you. It's real enough. Are you hearing me?"

"Thanks for the life advice," he replied sarcastically. "Can we talk about your deal?"

"I already told you. We'll do something about it."

"Yeah. We have six weeks left and look at how far we've gotten."

Dean groaned and threw down his utensils. "Why are you following me around anyways?" It was throw-up-hands time. "Because it _certainly_ doesn't seem like you want to hang around me." He lowered his voice and leaned in, over his food. "I understand the trickster was a bitch, but I almost drove the Impala off the road yesterday. If you need a breather we can always stop in at Bobby's. You don't go barging into a vampire nest-"

"I didn't. I know how to handle vampires, Dean." He dug around in his wallet for some bills. "If I wanted to get away from you I'd have already left." His look upwards was meant to say 'and you know that'.

"Yeah, but we should be going in with the plan together. I don't care if it sounds crazy, I want to hear it next time. We're a team. You. Me. Team? Duo? The Hardy Boys?"

"I know. We’ll do it like that next time. I just… forgot."

Dean’s next look won the prize for the most confused, stunned expression he’d ever shown.

* * *

They never ended up going to Bobby's. Sam knew of some possessions and werewolf cases in surrounding states, though only God knows how. Sometime during one of his sleepless nights, he must have managed to memorize an exorcism, because the kid could really fire them off. Over the course of a couple hunts they fell back into a rhythm and got double bedded rooms. The weirdest thing of it all was that Dean could hardly remember a time when Sam wasn't around or calling to meet him.

But there was something else to top it off. He always woke up to music.

That fateful Tuesday, he'd meant it as a joke. On the Wednesday he thought Sam might appreciate something other than Asia if he'd been through just about a million of the same Tuesdays. A man can only take so much Asia, no matter how good.

But now? Now Sam was leaving it on every night. It might have worried him if Sam didn't seem to be recognizing his surroundings quicker than before.

" _We're a team!"_

" _I forgot." - "Those Tuesdays- those months- they weren't REAL, Dean!" - "I thought…"_

" _What? That I just up and left?"_

" _No, that you were gone. Well and truly gone._

Some things were still bothering him- which included just about everything Sam said and did. Mainly, though, it was the separation of 'Tuesdays' and 'months'. Whatever he had 'dreamed' about after all his Tuesdays, it couldn't have been anything good.

* * *

The cat eyed Sam while a witness sat down on her couch. Dean rattled through the usual questions and tried to keep everything light despite the fact that her husband had been brutally slaughtered, and Sam had already tried to tell him where the spirit was holed up. Sam himself sat and watched the useless feline that rolled around on the floor and kept mewing up at him.

When they got to the car, Dean was less than impressed. "I thought we might as well confirm some things about the death. Why can't you work with me for one of these?"

As they drove away from the town, finding less and less houses to pass, Sam felt like saying it. "I hate cats."

Dean glanced over a couple times in quick succession. "What?"

"I killed a cat. It would be alive now, but I killed it. I stabbed it with the wooden stake I always carried around."

"I'm a dog person myself-"

"It was looking at me in this weirdly intelligent way. I'd been sure it was the trickster, watching me, taunting me. It wasn't, but I kinda felt better nonetheless."

The Impala purred.

"Why don't you start at the beginning? It's really hard to understand when you cut straight to the point you became psychotic at." Dean was, as usual, teasing, but he could sense the real emotions pouring out under the jokes.

He breathed in, then out. "It became Wednesday. You went out to the parking lot to pack stuff up… I was getting ready when I heard a gunshot. You were dead. And this time, I wasn't waking up."

Dean's face was staying as reactionless as humanly possible. Sam guessed it was his cue to continue.

"They buried you… I just stayed there. I thought it was probably a bad idea that you were buried in town, because when you rose, people might see it. And I knew I'd get you back. A trickster isn't God- it's just _a_ god. He'd slip up, and when he did, I would be right there. _Right_ there.

"But he didn't. Every night I imagined you burning in hell, never even knowing what had hit you. I'm pretty sure you were dead by the time I got there… so I never really said goodbye. I did a lot of hunts in between, memorized some chants, downed a lot of beers. Since I wasted so much time I thought, hey, it'd be alright to just… waste something else. A few hunts were close. Not just for me, but for other victims, too.

"Then the more time I spent, the more lives I risked, the more I wondered if it would hurt to do it just a bit more. At that point I was certain it was just a fever dream. I was in and out of sleep, mindlessly driving, mindlessly hunting. I was on autopilot while werewolves leapt for my throat. Then, six months later…

"... Six, whole, long months later, Bobby called. He'd called lots before that but I couldn't have given less of a fuck. It was all 'I care about you' and 'don't do this to yourself'. Going back to his place was just wasted time. It wasn't going to bring you back, it wasn't going to grab the trickster's attention. He… Bobby didn't deserve to see me like that.

"But he did- cuz he called those six months down the road and said he knew how to summon the trickster. I was there, right away. He wanted me to drain someone dry. I stabbed him with a stake. The trickster appeared a couple feet away, and here we are.” If he brushed past certain details quickly, they could pretend he’d never mentioned them. “There's hardly any time left to void your contract, and I've just scared you off for good. You're going to leave and do jack shit until the hounds rip you apart and then you're gonna be gone again, forever."

Sam wondered if Dean had suffered from a heart attack and was just dead where he sat. His older brother hadn't said a word, had hardly moved. He'd been looking inwards for so long, it hadn't occurred to him until now that Dean pulled over along the side of the road, in the middle of God knows where.

"It sort of sounds like you turned into me." His voice was quiet.

"I…" Sam felt his voice cracking. It was all he could do to shake his head.

"Look, we'll, uh… finish this hunt, get the Colt, start goading some black-eyed sons of bitches…" He saw Dean turn his head at last, but he couldn't make out many features past the tears in his vision.

All of a sudden, Sam came to the full understanding of what he had just dropped on Dean from out of nowhere. The water in his eyes felt too hot, the Impala felt too cramped. He was pushing the door open with desperation entering and leaving his lungs at odd intervals. A crisp air hit his face and died as quickly as it had come, leaving him to the sun's heat where he sat at the side of the road. He was happy to remain thoroughly oblivious to the world, save his most recent words and everything else he'd left unsaid.

How long had _Dean_ lasted when he died?

Why was _Dean_ able to make a deal with the demons?

Why did _he_ always get the privilege of being looked at like some freak?

As boots crunched a few feet away, Sam could _feel_ that look of worry and disgust. After they'd killed Yellow Eyes, he'd finally been able to look down at Dean's familiar, brotherly gaze of love and worry. But now he's blown it all over again. He would always be the freak of the family.

Images of Dean muttering some "I expected better of you" speech and driving away threatened to make the tears fall faster, but it didn't come. Instead, Dean sat and wrapped his arm around Sam's left side.

Dean was like a brick wall; he was stable as all hell and you could hardly knock him down if you tried. His older brother had always been supportive, but if he moved away, left because he was pissed, there wasn't a wall to lean on anymore. If you put your weight there and he moved, you'd lose your balance.

Fall.

And he put all his weight there- both figuratively and literally. His body shook against Dean's unmoving one while mental barriers crumbled, one by one, and he had to go through and accept every second that Dean hadn't been there. That he might have to deal with the same pain again in the future, if he failed his big brother a second time. A third time. For the millionth time.

Every time he snapped back to, he could feel the way he was leaning on Dean's shoulder and how his brother hadn't moved this whole time, despite how there must be aches and sweat all down his back, and that only Sam had slept or ate anything since the night before. He felt so much like a goddamn chick and didn't understand how Dean had refrained from calling him "Samantha" by this point. It was high school all over again; his brother and dad would go on hunts, and there was no way of telling if either of them would come back broken, or even return at all.

But this time, he wasn't nearly as powerless. "We have to find this demon. We have to kill it."

"Let's just get you back to the motel, Sammy. We'll go from there."

Dean squeezed his shoulder a bit as a cue, but he didn't want to move. Not quite yet. They might never sit like this again, and he wanted it to last at least a couple more moments.

Dean didn't fight him on it. He just stayed sitting where he always had, like he always had.

**Author's Note:**

> The story 'Just Want a Glimpse To Know You're There' by authoressnebula is another worthwhile read, and is based around the same episode and type of character exploration. I would definitely recommend it! (I originally found it on FFnet)


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